


No Pretending

by isitandwonder



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Comeplay, Dirty Talk, Dry Humping, Humiliation, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Masturbation, Object Insertion, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-08-11 09:36:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7885951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isitandwonder/pseuds/isitandwonder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is injured on a case. When Sherlock takes care of him, things get heated and messy. Just porny porn  with a slightly dominant Sherlock and a willingly consenting John.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

„Ah, fuck, Sherlock, this stings!“

“Well, John, contact with _Cyanea capillata_ is known to be quite painful.”

“Thank you for your sympathy!”

“You really should have avoided contact.”

“I wasn't actually actively seeking it. Somebody pushed me into the water.” John glared poignantly over his shoulder, trying to fix his flatmate with a death stare. Said flatmate sadly didn't seem to notice.

“The Lion's Mane jellyfish is very common in the English Channel. You should have been warned.”

“As I said.Somebody.Pushed.Me!”

“Someone had to go in to retrieve the notebook before it got all soggy.”

“Why me?”

“Because I had to keep Carey in check. And was wearing Saville Row. Sea water totally ruins the line. Whereas your rather cheap attire didn't suffer greatly.”

John scoffed. “Arrogant git! Wait, what are you doing with the Sarson's?”

“Vinegar is recommended to deactivate the nematocysts.”

They were back at their dingy B&B in Rye, John lying flat on his stomach on the bed, naked from the waist upwards. Sherlock knelled above him and rubbed cool vinegar onto the small of John's back. The sour smell quickly filled the room.

“I'm not a fucking salad. Where did you even get it from?”

Sherlock smiled viciously. “Nicked it from the bar downstairs.”

John had to admit it soothed the stinging ache. “Try not to trickle the stuff on the duvet, though. Shouldn't you get a towel or something?”

“Can't.”

John could feel Sherlock's fingertips dip into the hollow above his buttocks before ghosting nearly up to his shoulder blades, gently touching burning skin and probably ugly red rashes while adeptly smearing vinegar all over John's back.

“You sure the tentacles got up that far? Doesn't seem like it.”

“Better safe than sorry.”

Sherlock continued his administration thoroughly. Very thoroughly. Paying nearly one minute attention solely to the scar on John's left shoulder.

“Why won't you get a towel? It's just over there in the bathroom.”

“I really can't get up right now John. Just relax. Don't worry, it'll be fine.” Sherlock's voice sounded a bit strangled but that could be explained by the sharp odour he was exposed to. Spilling nearly a whole bottle of malt vinegar over one's friend could have a slightly breathtaking effect, John assumed.

Only, by now all the angry welts on John's back should be sufficiently covered. Why was Sherlock still at it?

“You should take your pants off to let me check for further damage.” After climbing back on board of the 'Alicia', the boat on which Sherlock had held Peter Carey, serial murderer, at gun point, John had been allowed by the police upon their arrival to trade his sodden clothes first with a rough emergency blanket, then with an oversized tracksuit of which he was still wearing the grey bottoms.

“John?”

It had suddenly got very quiet in their room.

“Do you really think that's necessary, Sherlock? I'm quite sure there are no burns on my legs.”

“Just let me take a look, then we'll know for sure.”

John was acutely aware of Sherlock's weight, settling on his thighs; of Sherlock's large hands resting at the waistband of his slacks; of Sherlock's deep and slightly rough voice, asking permission.

“Ok...” John breathed.

Sherlock's clever fingers inserted themselves inside the elastic and pulled. John's hot flushed skin prickled as it was exposed to cool air. Sherlock slid down John's legs as he got up to pull the sweat pants fully off, leaving John reeling at the loss of contact.

John closed his eyes and inhaled, counting to ten. He nearly jumped as he felt fingertips brushing over the sensitive skin on the back of his knees. Then he could hear the rustle of fabric; the mattress dipped as Sherlock sat down next to him.

“This isn't about jelly fish marks anymore, is it? Sherlock?” John asked, his voice a barely audible whisper.

“No.” Sherlock continued to trail his fingers up the back of John's leg, higher and higher.

The bed wobbled a bit as Sherlock moved again. John heard the sound of a zip being pulled down.

“May I look at you?”

“No.” Sherlock's voice had become even more hoarse. He cupped one of John's buttocks with his large hand and squeezed. John inhaled sharply and writhed onto the duvet, seeking friction for his rapidly hardening cock.

“Don't move. Lie still.” The harsh smack delivered to John's arse had him frozen instantly. He could hear Sherlock's fist make distinctly slushy noises as it worked his cock. Christ, John could smell him.

He moaned and squirmed again, which was rewarded with another firm stroke.

“Please...” John huffed. In answer to his unspoken plea Sherlock pinched his arse hard, just where his hand must have left an angry red mark. John gasped in shock and pleasure.

Sherlock didn't stop but raked his fingernails over the tender skin of John's legs, all the way up over the swell of his arse, scratching the still stinging marks on John's back until he almost sobbed.

John screwed his eyes tightly shut and pressed his forehead against his folded arms to fight off the impulse to scream.

“You like that.” Sherlock sounded intrigued and very turned on.

“Yeah. God, Sherlock...”

There was a sudden movement, then John felt hands on his hip and shoulders as he was turned around and manhandled onto his back. The pain shooting through his body made him see white sparks behind his eyelids. A heavy weight settled across his chest and bony knees pinned his biceps down onto the bed. The smooth wool of Sherlock's trousers scraped against John's over-sensitive skin. Sherlock must be kneeling right above him, John imagined, fisting his cock just inches away from his face.

At the touch of a finger tracing his upper lip John instinctively opened his mouth and licked. Another finger was added and John sucked. As the fingers started to move in and out John closed his lips around them.

“I'm fucking your mouth.” Sherlock was panting, his voice a deep rumble. John just sucked harder, twirling his tongue around the fingertips pushing into him.

“Would you like to have my cock in your mouth, John?”

John couldn't answer; he just nodded. Sherlock spread his fingers and John licked the soft skin in between.

“Have you ever sucked someone off?”

John shook his head, feeling himself blush. Sherlock suddenly withdrew his fingers and John's slack yaw fell open. He could sense Sherlock shift above him, nudging even closer. When John expectantly darted out his tongue it made contact with the already wet head of Sherlock's cock. John tasted salty precome as he pressed the tip of his tongue against the slit. Sherlock sighed above him, carding his fingers through John's short hair., tugging encouragingly. As if on cue John raised his face a bit before closing his lips around Sherlock's cock to suck.

Sherlock gasped and stilled, letting John explore his cock with lips and tongue. And John did, licking, caressing, suckling, savouring the taste and texture. 

“I could watch you for hours, John.” Sherlock hummed, stroking John's face, his hair, brushing one fingertip over John's eyebrow, tracing the shape of the silky blond hair. 

John lost track of time as his world shrunk down to Sherlock's cock between his lips and Sherlock's taste on his tongue. He could feel Sherlock pulse and swell inside his mouth as he tried to take him in deeper and almost gagged.

“Easy, John. No need for that right now.” Sherlock murmured and John thanked him by massaging the underside of his cock with his flat tongue.

“You are so beautiful like this. God, the things I want to do to you.”

John's own neglected cock throbbed heavily between his legs, but Sherlock's knees still held him down and prevented him effectively from touching himself.

“You would let me do anything to you, wouldn't you?”

John nodded as far as it was possible. Suddenly, Sherlock pulled out. 

“Say it!”

John's eyes flew open at the fierce demand. Sherlock crouched above him, hard cock in hand, shirt and trousers in disarray, hair dishevelled, face flushed, eyes dark and piercing. John was lost. He wanted it so badly that he didn't care how needy he must sound.

“Anything. I'd do anything you want.” And he meant it.

Their eyes locked. Sherlock's whole body shivered. He brought his cock directly above John's face. John tilted his head to give Sherlock a better angle, opened his mouth wide and stared unblinkingly back into Sherlock's feral eyes. Sherlock's cock twitched visibly as he gave it another long stroke and John moaned at the sight.

His back hurt, the room smelled of vinegar, sweat and sex and Sherlock Holmes was wanking above him, nearly fully clothed while John was offering himself up. It was humiliating. It was dirty. It was so hot John thought he might succumb to spontaneous self-combustion if Sherlock wouldn't come soon.

Sherlock clenched his fist and John witnessed his whole body spasm as his climax began to surge through his body. It was evident in Sherlock's hand losing its lazy rhythm as it sped up and started to blur on his shaft before it stopped moving abruptly. John saw a big white dollop of come quell from the slit and stuck his tongue out to catch it before Sherlock started to shoot all over his face. John caught some of it with his gaping mouth but Sherlock made sure it hit John in the open eyes as well. Meanwhile, John's hips bucked up, his cock desperately seeking friction but finding none. He moaned and panted, his broken voice begging Sherlock for more. And Sherlock tried to oblige. He fell forward and had to brace himself with his free hand on the mattress while wringing the last drops of ejaculate from his cock.

Sherlock shivered as he was finally done, sitting back on John's chest to admire his work. John kept his mouth and eyes open to allow Sherlock to see come pooling in his eye-sockets, gooing to his lashes, covering his lips and cheeks. He even brought the come collected in his mouth up – mixed with saliva – and let it spill over his lips to run down his chin. Sherlock smeared his index finger though the mess and watched mesmerised as he rubbed his own semen over John's face and into his skin. It felt glorious.

Eventually Sherlock leaned back a fraction and snatched his phone from the bedside cabinet. He grinned and bit his lower lip as he started to take pictures of John's soiled face. John smiled back up at him, finally allowing himself to blink. The come stung in his eyes. He was so hard he fancied he could come untouched.

Sherlock shimmied backwards down his body and his breath gushed over John's flushed cock as he almost purred. “No, John. You won't be allowed to come for some time. I'd rather like to keep you like this. So keen and needy.” He still smiled his devilish little smile as John pushed his hips up once to seek some much needed contact. But instead of giving John what he so obviously craved Sherlock got up and buttoned up his trousers before smoothing down his shirt. “Stay like this until I come back. I have some shopping to do.”

John watched as Sherlock put on his jacket and left the room. The bastard didn't quite close the door but left it slightly ajar. Anyone walking by on the corridor would be able to see John, with his stiff red cock against his belly and come all over his face. As John's sex sedated brain fully encompassed his situation he felt a copious amount of precome ooze onto his stomach. 'Jesus Christ', he thought as he heard footsteps coming up the stairs. 

But instead of covering himself he balled his fists, turned his head towards the door and began to wait for Sherlock's return.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's a patient man, therefore he waits until Sherlock returns to finish wht they have begun. Just what it says in the tags...

John had lost track of time while waiting. It was profoundly uncomfortable. The pain in his lower back increased slowly as the soothing effect of the vinegar on the jelly fish stings wore off. The dried come on his face itched. 

And then there was the small but distracting fact that the door to their room stood open. Not that far, mind, but just enough for someone to glimpse a very naked, very aroused man lying on a bed; and if that someone would care to take a closer look it would be quite obvious that said man had been ejaculated on. In the face.

They were staying at a small B&B with only a couple of rooms. Still, since Sherlock had gone, at least three people had walked past their door. John wasn't sure if anyone had actually dared to look inside but just the possibility of being discovered like this made the blood roar in his ears and his body flush crimson all over.

John knew he should be ashamed. He knew he should be mortified. He was. He felt exposed and humiliated. He desperately wanted to cover himself – only, Sherlock had put him in this position on purpose. Sherlock wanted John like this – show him off as the used, filthy, debauched thing he was. To put John in the place he belonged. To punish him for enjoying these base carnal pleasures.

And John loved it. His erection hadn't flagged since Sherlock had left (which added to John's general discomfort despite the flutter of anticipation deep down in his belly). On the contrary, he by now felt that he'd never been that horny in his whole life. He was so hard it was almost painful – his balls already drawn tight, the glans fully exposed and flushed a deep red, clear precome dribbling over his stomach and down his shaft. John desperately wanted to touch himself, and suppressing this impulse only aroused him more. It didn't help that he could still smell Sherlock on his skin and taste him in his mouth.

What was Sherlock up to? He'd said he had some shopping to do. What on earth could he need to buy right now – on a Tuesday afternoon in Rye? After coming on John's face? Leaving John in a state of obvious arousal, demanding that he didn't move but stayed the way he was? Didn't that imply that they were far from over with this? So, did Sherlock go out to buy some... supplies?

John's mind started to wander. Sure, a small town by the sea wouldn't probably comprise a sex shop – but John trusted Sherlock to make do if needs must. Cloth pegs for nipple clamps; a bamboo twig for a cane; sailing rope to tie him down.

John's head started spinning as he imagined himself, bound tightly, legs spread wide, lying face-down again, with four wooden cloth pegs attached to the soft skin of his scrotum. Sherlock would stand above him, still fully dressed, and chastise him for his filthy state. The cane would come down hard on his arse and upper thighs, leaving bright red welts. Sherlock would be stern and unforgiving, not moved by John's begging and sobbing. And John would thank him for that afterwards. He knew he needed a firm hand.

He wondered if Sherlock would actually like to fuck him. John honestly had no idea. He knew how curious Sherlock was, how prone to indulgence if something got his attention; but he wasn't entirely sure if Sherlock Holmes engaged in bodily contact with other people. Wouldn't he be repelled by such intimate actions?

But perhaps he would want to test John's limits. Would Sherlock like to insert objects into him, not fucking him in person but still probing, watching? John thought that definitely possible. But better not picture it. 

John should absolutely stop asking himself if Sherlock would be kind and start with something relatively small to give John time to adjust? A pen perhaps? John shouldn't dwell on the question if Sherlock would want to apply lube or lotion? Would he use increasingly bigger objects? The empty bottle of Sarson's must still be somewhere in the room... 

At this point John gave in to his dirty mind and vividly imagined being fucked with said red bottle, his rim stretching around the bulging plastic body. Sherlock would look on as John struggled to accommodate the by no means insignificant girth. Perhaps Sherlock would even run his finger over John's rectum when the widest part was pushed in, probing, stroking, caressing? John was sure his anus would be gaping after the bottle was removed; he would be spread open and ready for more. He would definitely beg for more. He had seriously meant anything when he'd offered himself up to Sherlock.

Hopefully Sherlock wouldn't loose interest but toss off over him again, using John's body as a willing orifice. John pictured Sherlock's thick white come dripping over his open twitching hole. Undoubtedly some of it would trickle inside. Sherlock could use his slender fingers (as he had done on John's face) to push the goo inside him, easily breaching John's relaxed muscle, ordering him to keep it inside for as long as possible. Sherlock would watch John desperately try to clench his rectum. Perhaps Sherlock would praise him for his efforts? Perhaps he would take another picture? Would he tell John again how beautiful he was? Would Sherlock perhaps even entertain the idea of showing his pictures off to other people, their friends, people at the Yard, John's colleagues at the surgery? Sherlock might even post them on his blog. God, the shame, the humiliation... John's whole body started to shiver and spasm as he frantically tried to suppress the urge to come.

Where the fuck was Sherlock?

When Sherlock finally returned to their room and pulled the door shut behind him, even turning the key to lock it, John Watson was reduced to a drooling, oozing heap of want. Bright crimson spots burnt on his cheeks and his cock was nearly purple, resting heavily against his belly, sitting in a sticky puddle of precome that darkened his pubic hair, making the natural blond curls look nearly black; it had effectively run down between John's legs, leaving his cleft slippery and wet.

Sherlock put the bags he was carrying down, took in the sight and smiled. “I must have left the door ajar. Did someone see you like this, John?”

John blushed even more as he shrugged. “Don't know. Perhaps. I heard someone outside.”

Sherlock tilted his head. “Still, you didn't move.”

“I was told not to.”

Sherlock's smile widened, reaching his eyes. He let his eyes meander over John, and his gaze was full of appreciation.

“You amaze me, John Watson.” 

John's heart fluttered in his chest. Then it skipped a beat when Sherlock stepped closer and ran one gloved finger through the mess on John's stomach. John gasped as the smooth leather came into contact with his burning skin, especially as Sherlock still avoided to touch his cock. He just smeared the clear fluid down to John's hip bones before withdrawing his finger to press it against John's lips.

John started to suck the black leather without being told to, tasting his own arousal. He had to fist the sheets to refrain from touching himself. Surely he would have come after just two or three strokes.

Sherlock must have sensed how close John was, because he removed his finger quickly, looking down on the panting, sweaty man and his twitching cock.

“You appear to be quite worked up, John. I thought you would use my absence to unwind a bit, but I seem to have misjudged.”

Sherlock slowly removed his gloves and hung up his jacket, his eyes never leaving John, who almost whimpered with need when Sherlock lowered himself onto the bed. He could feel Sherlock's body radiate heat as his woollen trouser leg brushed John's thigh, nearly driving him over the edge just at this small contact.

Sherlock gracefully lay down on his side next to John, just a few inches away. So close that his breath gushed over John's hot skin, ghosting over his sweaty throat, giving John goose-bumps. John became very still as Sherlock shuffled even closer, pressing his lean clothed body against John's naked frame.

“You smell like sex.”

“That must be because my flatmate came onto my face.”

“It's delicious.”

John could hear the warm smile in Sherlock's voice. His right fist was trapped between their bodies and as Sherlock started to rub against it John twisted and opened it so that he could cup Sherlock's erection with his palm. And Sherlock allowed it.

“Tell me, John, what were you thinking about while I was gone?”

John closed his eyes and swallowed hard. “Please, Sherlock, don't make me... Please, just touch me.”

“No, John, I won't touch you until you tell me what you thought about.”

Sherlock's mouth was almost touching the soft lope of John's ear.

But John couldn't bring himself to answer.

“Were you thinking about me?”

John just gave a curt nod.

“Tell me.” Sherlock lazily rotated his hips, pushing into John's open palm. The soft fabric of his bespoke trouser started to feel damp. “Or I'll stop and leave again. Who knows when I might be back? I could stay away all night.”

John bit his lip. He felt his ears go pink as he started to speak, his voice ragged and breathless. “I was thinking about you.”

“We've already established that fact.”

John had to smile despite being torn between shame and desire.

“I was thinking about what you might wanted to buy. I hoped you would get some rope to tie me up. And a... a cane, a long slim cane to beat me raw.”

John felt Sherlock inhale sharply as his cock twitched enthusiastically; in response, John gave it a long, hard tug.

“Nice. Go on.” Sherlock sounded a bit breathless.

John stared at the ceiling, unable to meet Sherlock's eyes. “I wondered if you would like to fuck me... with objects. A... a pen... or maybe... a bottle.” John's vision started to blur and he had to blink a few times before he could focus on the ceiling again. Beige, inoffensive, calming. Breathe!

“You thought about me fucking you with a bottle and that turned you on?”

“Yes.” John huffed, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. His whole body was humming, tensing up, and he could feel his abdominal muscles quiver in the effort not to come. “You would watch. You would touch my arse, my hole, stroke it...”

“... lick it.”

“Oh god, Sherl...” John's hips started to buck; he couldn't control it. At the same time Sherlock started to fuck John's fist in earnest, canting his hips forward, writhing and rubbing himself furiously against John's naked body.

“And... and then you would remove the bottle... and come all over my arsehole...” John felt his balls draw tight as liquid heat pooled at the base of his spine. Words started to fail him, but dry-humping with a man who would outlive god to have the last word sometimes had it's advantages. 

“Your hole would be red and raw and gaping a bit. Shooting all over it might soothe the pain from the stretch, don't you think?” John couldn't possibly answer that. “You know what? Turn around, let me see.”

Despite his dazed state John was on his elbows and knees in no time, raising his arse in the air while pressing his face into the mattress. Sherlock was right, breathing was boring at times.

It only needed Sherlock to spread his cheeks and press the tip of one finger against his hole for John to finally come apart. After the long built-up it truly felt like a release as come started to spurt from his cock, decorating the duvet and even hitting him on the chin. It didn't matter... just added to the mess.

As he shuddered and gasped he suddenly felt Sherlock press his clothed crotch against him, squirming, and then hot, wet heat spread over John's cleft. Sherlock's arm came around John's throat from behind, pulling him up so that Sherlock's chest was pressed flush against John's naked, sweaty back. “John, John...” Sherlock panted. Their bodies swayed and shivered until the convulsions finally ebbed and died.

When he had some breath back, John looked down onto to soiled sheets and Sherlock – clever, clever Sherlock – caught on and pushed John's face down, his large hand resting firmly on the back of John's head.

“Clean that up.” 

And John did, licking his own semen off the mattress, trying to be as thorough as possible. When he was done he turned around and looked up at Sherlock, who stood next to the bed, watching, eyes as big as saucers. To anybody else he might have looked calm and distant but John could see how affected Sherlock was.

“OK?” John asked.

“You look... god, John.” And Sherlock grabbed John's head again, bowing down while pulling John up at the same time to crush their lips together, locking them into a deep, passionate kiss. John's face was damp with fresh come but Sherlock didn't seem to mind as he started to nibble and lick at John's lips, yaw, chin and throat until they both were left breathless again. 

As Sherlock finally released him John thought it might be a sensible idea to get up and go to the bathroom to clean up a bit. But as John started to rise an insistent hand pushed him back down.

“Where do you think you are going?”

“Take a shower?” It came out more like a question than a statement.

“A shower? Why do you think you are allowed to shower when you haven't cleaned up properly?”

“But Sherlock, I...” And then John got it. He might be an idiot sometimes, but in reading Sherlock Holmes and his demands he'd become quite fluent.

John sunk to his knees, pressed his face against Sherlock's damp fly and started to suck. It tasted of wool, detergent and semen – and it felt brilliant; it got even better when Sherlock started to pet John's head and rake his fingers through his short blond hair until eventually pulling away from his mouth.

“Now you may shower.” Sherlock condescended, offering John a hand to stand up. They smiled at each other and John still felt that ridiculous happy grin plastered on his face (well, there was actually a lot plastered on it by now) when he turned around at the bathroom door.

“What did you actually buy while shopping?” He asked, eyeing the bags on the floor curiously.

“Clothes. For you. Can't have you run around in these.“ Sherlock disdainfully kicked the crumpled track suit bottoms on the floor.

“Oh. Thanks... that's nice of you, actually. Very thoughtful.”

“And lube.” Sherlock blurted out as John was halfway through the door. “Lots of lube.”

John turned again. “That's also very... thoughtful.”

When he could hear the shower running Sherlock started to unpack his purchases, setting them out on the rumpled sheets for John to see. He grinned wickedly. He knew that he had a good eye for size and measurements. It would be so rewarding to see John in those red lace panties...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You really shouldn't use a bottle of Sarson's as a sex toy! https://www.sarsons.co.uk/

**Author's Note:**

> I think I have to write a second chapter for this. Will do tomorrow.


End file.
